Page 119 of Hometown Touchdown
I blink down at her. “You…named them?”
She nods so hard her curls bounce. “This one is Gerald, and this one’s named Miss Peppers, and this one is smaller but that’s okay because it’s shy.”
Brynn walks by with a wine glass in one hand and an oven mitt in the other. “Pretty sure shy bread still gets eaten, Evie.”
Evie gasps. “You wouldn’t.”
“I might.”
Evie shields the roll with her tiny body like she’s taking a bullet. Kate sighs from across the room. “We’re a civilized family,” she mutters. “Mostly.”
Chaos. Pure, happy chaos.
The Marlows, my parents, Kate, Kinsey, Cam, Evie. All of us packed into my childhood home like a bunch of Thanksgiving-themed sardines—someone’s always leaning over someone else, talking over the music, laughing too loud, opening drawers that definitely don’t contain serving spoons.
And it’s perfect.
I lean against the doorframe between the kitchen and dining room, watching it all unfold with that weird pressure in my chest I haven’t been able to shake lately. Not bad pressure, just…full. Full of every version of home I’ve ever wanted.
My dad’s carving the turkey like it’s a military operation. My mom’s making notes about who brought what so she can “circle back” later with thank-you cards and critiques. Cam’s in chargeof drinks and has already spilled cider on Kinsey’s boots. Brynn’s dad and mine are arguing over who gets the wishbone. Again.
And Brynn? She’s everywhere.
Helping Kinsey light candles on the table, laughing with Kate in the hallway, sneaking me that smile across the room when our eyes catch. That smile that saysyou’re mineandI see youandlet’s go make out in the pantry later.
It hits me then—not like a thunderclap, but like a steady drumbeat under my skin. This is what I want. Always. Not just this moment. Not just on a holiday. I want every year, every day, to look like this—like us.
Only…in a house of our own.
I want to build something with her. A place we fill with noise and laughter and burnt pie crusts. A home where she feels safe to be exactly who she is. Loved down to the bone.
And I want her to know that I don’t just see a future with her—Icraveit.
She rounds the corner again, glass now empty, cheeks flushed from kitchen heat, and pauses when she spots me watching.
“What?” she says with a smirk, coming over to stand in front of me.
I loop my fingers around her belt loops and tug her in closer. “Nothing.”
Her eyes narrow. “You’re staring like you’re thinking big thoughts.”
“I am.”
“Dangerous.”
I grin. “Just thinking how much I like seeing you here. With all of us.”
Her expression softens. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Feels like it’s exactly where you’re supposed to be.”
She nudges her nose against mine, barely a breath between us. “I feel that too.”
And just like that, the noise fades. The clatter of silverware and pop of laughter and endless background hum of Thanksgiving melts away until it’s just me and her, standing in a house built by my parents, dreaming of the one I’ll build with her.
Chapter fifty-eight
Brynn
